by Ann Charles
I studied the design, looking beyond the two-headed, gangly-armed version of Bigfoot carved in the wood with what appeared to be the body of an elk-like creature in one hand and the creature’s head in the other. Cornelius was right. While there were similarities in the gruesome subject matter, the style was different. It reminded me of something Layne told me about the Maya civilization. How different stone carvers put their own flair into the glyphs they chiseled in the limestone—a distinct artistry visible in the design.
“Check this out.” I pointed at a clock face sitting further along the bench. It had what looked like rune stone symbols in place of the numbers.
“That’s peculiar. These symbols are from the Viking alphabet.”
“You know the Viking alphabet?”
“That seems obvious, Violet, considering I wear a Viking helmet during séances.”
Before I could make sense of that, a door at the other end of the room opened. I froze, my war hammer raised and ready to face off with whatever horror awaited.
A tall, willowy figure swept into the room, feminine in essence judging by appearance. The shafts of sunlight flooding through the window lit her, giving her long, white tresses an almost radiant glow. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate, visible through the transparent fabric of her cream-colored gossamer dress. Bright blue flowers were sewn into the fabric, concealing yet teasing with glimpses of what lay beneath. A pair of strappy flat sandals made of thin strips of leather wrapped around her feet, twining up her legs, disappearing under the sheer fabric.
“I think I’m in love,” Cornelius said, his voice filled with awe.
The willowy female gasped, taking a step back at the sight of us. “What are you?” she asked, her tone dulcet, flooding me with warmth and happiness.
“You speak English,” I said, not sure what I’d expected to come from the lips of such a mesmerizing figure. There was an accent in there, but I couldn’t place it. Her words had soft edges, like her clothes and body. They flowed together, making me think of something Latin-based. A variation of French maybe?
“I followed your companion’s lead,” she said.
“Such an ethereal beauty,” Cornelius said, his gaze still locked onto the willowy woman. “I want to compose a sonnet for her. To write tomes about her wavy white locks. To skim my lips over her luscious—”
I elbowed him in the gut. “Knock it off, Shakespeare.”
While Cornelius coughed, catching his breath, I studied the woman. Was she the hunter waiting for me? If so, anonymity would work to my favor. “I’m here about a clock,” I said by way of introduction.
She walked closer, her steps graceful and light, stopping before me. She was taller than Cornelius, midway between six and seven feet in height. The smooth and creamy texture of her skin made me want to reach out and touch her. Her eyelashes were a stark white against her dark eyelids, outlining irises the color of verdant grass in a spring meadow. The sweet smell of wildflowers in the sun filled the air.
My grip on my war hammer loosened, my internal warning system not reacting to her nearness. Something deep down assured me she was no enemy.
“You did not answer my question, stranger.”
What question? I blinked out of her spell. “I’m a Timekeeper.”
“Then why are you wielding a blade?”
“As a precaution.”
She tipped her head to the side, studying me. “If you are a Timekeeper, why have I not seen you before?”
“I’m new on the job.” I set my war hammer on the workbench next to the Viking alphabet clock. “I replaced Ms. Wolff.”
One white eyebrow lifted. “Who?”
I thought of the name Prudence had used. “Hoont.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“She was tired.” That was no lie. Ms. Wolff had said as much before dying.
The willowy woman leaned forward, sniffing my throat, not unlike what Prudence had done in the past but without the creepy factor involved. “You have an odd scent. One that I know, yet I do not.”
Most others could smell the Scharfrichter in my blood. How was it she could not? There was no way she was human, yet she did not react to my charm necklace, the one Aunt Zoe had made to trigger a response from the others.
At least I hadn’t noticed a reaction yet. I needed to watch more closely, and not let myself be blinded by her beauty.
Her focus shifted to Cornelius, who stood almost nose-to-nose with her. “Your eyes are the color of my favorite flower.” She sniffed him next, leaning even closer and taking another breath. His hand reached up to touch her hair, but I knocked it away, shaking my head at him.
“I know your kind,” she told him. “You don’t belong here.” Her green gaze returned to me. “But you are an enigma. Familiar yet exotic.”
If we were done with the smell-o-thon, we needed to move this train along before Harvey or Cooper ended up with tooth marks in their hides. “Can you help me with my clock?”
She looked down at the cuckooing clock, her lips pursed. “I did not make this clock.”
She did not make … Holy caca-moly! “You’re a clockmaker!”
“Of course,” she said. “Why else would you come to me?”
Never mind that I was there by dumb luck. Or was I? “I need your help,” I told her. “I need to understand how the clocks work.”
“How can you be a Timekeeper and not have this knowledge?”
“I’m still in training.”
She searched my face for several seconds. “And what of your friend?”
I looked at Cornelius, who was picking up random objects on her workbench, studying them. “What about him?”
He glanced our way. “What about me?”
“Not that one.” She lifted her arms in the air, circling her hands. A glowing hole appeared in the ceiling. What the heck? Before I could make sense of it, a piece of tapered candle fell out of the hole, landing at my feet. “The Oracle who is hiding in plain sight.”
My breath caught. She could see Doc? Or just sense him enough to take the candle from him? I’d always assumed he was safe when I was dabbling in the darkness and beyond. Then again, Mr. Black had warned of an Oracle’s vulnerability around their mate.
I bent and picked up the piece of candle, stuffing it in my coat pocket, while I regained my composure. “The Oracle is none of your concern.”
She smiled. “Do not be alarmed. Your entourage raises many questions, but I will keep your secrets. Now, what is it you seek to understand, Timekeeper?”
“What do the positions of the hands on a clock indicate?”
“Location. When the clock sounds, the position of the hands tells you the location of the gate through which the traveler is entering your world.” She pointed at the hour hand. “This indicates what you would call longitude.” Her long, thin finger hovered over the minute hand. “This indicates latitude. When you combine the two, you will know the location in which to seek the traveler.”
“So how do I know which gate each number represents?”
“That is something you must learn, Timekeeper.”
Crud. I’d sooner just kill the bad guys. “And if I move the hands, I change the location, right?”
“That is the risk. It is why the clocks must be watched over and protected. A clock in the wrong hands can end in disaster.”
“But only Timekeepers can mess with the gates?”
She nodded. “Only Timekeepers can move the hands to make time work for them, which could be useful … or detrimental.”
“Why won’t this clock stop cuckooing?” Cornelius asked.
“The traveler is waiting at the gate for some reason, unwilling to step through, forcing the gate to remain open.” Her white eyebrows drew inward as she stared down at the timepiece. “It is curious. Why would a traveler not want a gate to close?”
“The squeaky wheel gets the grease,” I said to Cornelius. Unfortunately, the only way to find out was to visit the gate myself.<
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I pointed at the hour hand. “I need to know where that gate is.”
She made a weird, gurgling sound and stepped back. “Your ring!”
I looked down at the family heirloom Aunt Zoe had stuck on my finger earlier. “What about it?”
“I know that mark. You are a Scharfrichter!”
Damn. The gig was up. I stared at her in earnest. “Yes, but I’m also a Timekeeper. That was no lie.”
She took several more steps back, her green eyes wide, her hands covering her cheeks. “I have never heard of such a combination. It’s an abomination.”
Abomination? Come on! Was my family line really that full of assholes? “I promise not to hurt you. I’m here because I need your help in keeping the balance in my world.”
She lowered her hands. “Did you kill the Timekeeper before you?”
Crap. “Maybe just a little, but only because she insisted I kill her.”
Cornelius snorted. “How can you kill a ‘little,’ Violet?”
“You’re not helping,” I sang to him between gritted teeth.
“Whose clock is this?” the willow woman asked.
“The leader of the Wild Hunt. At least that is what Mr. Black explained when he gave it to me.”
“Mr. Black! He did not tell me a Scharfrichter had joined his cause.”
Oops! Maybe that was supposed to be a secret. Oh, well. The executioner was out of the bag now. “Listen, Mr. Black told me I’m supposed to kill the hunter in charge of these creatures carved into the clock before they take over Slagton in a turf war.”
“How did you arrive here?”
I pointed at the door behind me. “We came through that door.”
“How did you know about that gate?” Her eyes widened. “Of course, the Oracle could see it.” She took a step closer. “Where did you find an Oracle?” she asked in a lowered voice.
“I tripped over his books.”
“Do you realize how rare they are? The trouble they elicit?”
I scoffed. “I’m a Scharfrichter. Trouble is my middle name.”
“Why would a timekeeper sacrifice herself to a Scharfrichter. What would inspire such a daring decision?”
“Dangerous opponents. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time here for explanations. If you help me find the traveler belonging to this clock at whatever gate it’s waiting, I promise to return another time and explain everything to you in more detail. For now, you have to trust me.”
She eased closer, sniffing in my direction again. “You do not smell like a Scharfrichter.”
“I usually do.” Oh, hold on. I unzipped my coat a few inches and pulled the stick of dynamite from the inside pocket. “Maybe this is throwing you off.”
“Is that what I think it is?” Cornelius asked, leaning away from me.
“If you’re thinking old dynamite, then yes.”
“Do you know how unstable that is?”
“Yep, you told me all about nitroglycerin, remember?”
She leaned close again, breathing in. “That is not the source. You smell like a wild animal, covered in mildewing plants and dead weeds.”
I cringed. “That bad huh?” I had showered this morning and spritzed with some perfume afterward. Maybe I’d forgotten to rub on some pit-stick. “Wait.” I dug in my bra and extracted the sachet Aunt Zoe had given me. “Is this what you smell?”
Cornelius hooked his finger in my neckline, peering down the front of my shirt. “What else do you have down there?”
I extracted his finger from my shirt, scowling up at him. “What I keep in my secret arsenal is none of your business.”
The clockmaker sniffed the sachet. “Yes, this is the source.” She leaned in close to my neck, her breath cool on my skin “Now I smell you, Scharfrichter.” She handed the sachet back. “This is an interesting disguise. You are quite clever.”
I wished she’d tell Prudence that. I could use some testimonials on my Executioner résumé. The sachet, however, was Aunt Zoe’s idea, not mine.
“What does a Scharfrichter smell like?” Cornelius asked, sniffing around my neck.
“Death. It is in their nature.”
Nice. I reeked of death. Did they sell that scent in a shower gel and body lotion combo package?
I pushed Cornelius away, threatening to pop him in the nose, and stuffed the dynamite inside my coat and the sachet back in my bra. “We don’t have time for this. I have to find the traveler on this clock immediately. How do I find the gate?”
“There is a shortcut for a Timekeeper.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Instead of going to the gate, you move the gate to you.”
“How do I do that?”
She took my hands in her long fingers, helping me to nudge the hour hand halfway around the clock face and then bumping the minute hand up several notches. “Like this.”
“So where is this gate now?”
She pointed at the door through which we’d entered. “It is in there, as is your traveler.”
I grabbed my war hammer, looking up at Cornelius. “You ready?”
He picked up the clock. “No, however it doesn’t appear that I have much choice.”
“Thank you for your help,” I told the clockmaker. “I’ll return to explain more some other time.”
She smiled. “At that time, I will teach you more about the clocks, Scharfrichter.” She frowned toward the door. “If you live.”
Right. Continuing to breathe oxygen after today would be just jolly.
“This is for you, human,” she said, holding out her hand toward Cornelius. “You will both need it.”
Both?
Cornelius opened his palm under hers. A blue flower like that on her dress fell into his palm. “I like your eyes,” the clockmaker told him. “I would like to see them again as well.”
Cornelius stuttered, his cheeks darkening as he stared at her.
“Okay, we’re done here, Casanova.” I dragged him toward the door by the elbow.
I paused at the door, telling myself I could do this. I was made to kill. This time, the handle turned with ease, and the door opened with little effort.
“Stay close to me,” I told Cornelius and stepped inside. When the door closed, darkness blanketed us again.
“Doc?” I whispered. “I hope you’re in here with us.” The fact that I now had his portion of the candle made me wonder if we’d lost him.
Cornelius huffed behind me, his breath hot on my neck.
“Are you okay?”
“Are you talking to me?” Cornelius asked, his voice sounding far off, yet close. The darkness must be distorting sound as well.
“Yes, I’m talking to you. Who else would be panting in my ear?”
Silence filled the darkness, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing behind me.
“I don’t know,” Cornelius’s voice sounded higher than usual. “Because I’m standing right in front of you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
This part-time executioner job was going to be the death of me. The workplace hazards were a nightmare, not to mention the on-the-job stress, which was going to send me into cardiac arrest one of these days, I just knew it.
Once again, here I was hanging out in some nameless dark place next to a mouth breather who was pining to rip me into tiny Scharfrichter pieces. I closed my eyes, digging deep into my core, searching for the strength to deal with whatever nastiness was waiting to spring its trap.
Turning to face my hunter, I pulled Doc’s piece of candle from my coat pocket and held it out in front of me, picturing a flame in my mind. When I opened my eyes, the candle’s wick flared to life.
I looked beyond the flame. A high-pitched whine rose from my chest at the sight of what had been lurking in the dark next to me. I stumbled back a step, putting some distance between me and the gray-skinned beast and its elongated, deformed face that I doubted even its mother could love.
The “hunter” stared at me through two sunken eye
s nearly hidden beneath its bulging forehead. Black bubbles of saliva lined its lower lip, popping as it breathed through clenched sliver-like teeth framed by a large square mouth. Or was that black stuff its blood? The chimeras had bled black blood, too. While I cringed in horror, more of the dark, viscous drool leaked from one side of its mouth, sliding down its chin and dripping from its lower jaw. I noticed a faint scent of something musky and metallic, and gulped through the churning in my stomach.
Its teeth gnashed. The whine in my throat turned to a mewling cry. I tightened my grip on my war hammer, wishing I could trade in my Executioner Career card in this disturbing game for a profession with a lower “ick” factor.
The hunter’s upper lip quivered as it lunged toward me from the shadows, but a leather strap held it in place against a large wooden door. I lifted the candle higher, taking a closer look at what must be the “gate” between realms. The huge door reminded me of something that would hang in the entryway of a castle, vulnerable only to battering rams and termite colonies. It stood alone in the darkness. How could a gate just be here in the middle of nothing? What if I walked around to the other side? Would I see the other side of the gate or nothing?
The hunter struggled to pull free again. Its muscular gray shoulders writhed against invisible chains while its nostrils flared and eyes bulged. More black blood oozed from its lower lip, trailing down its chin.
Someone touched my shoulder.
I squawked, whirling, war hammer raised.
Cornelius cringed, his hands held out to stop me.
I lowered my weapon. “Don’t do that, damn it,” I said, panting.
He frowned. “Are you feeling high levels of fear and anxiety?”
“Am I … Hello! We’re in the dark facing off with a monster. Aren’t you feeling a tad nervous?”
“I’ve recently had my Third Eye chakra balanced to help me see everything more clearly. You, on the other hand, appear to need to open your solar plexus chakra so you can release some of that stuck energy and regain your strong sense of personal power.”
I gaped at him over the candle flame. “Do you really think now is the time to discuss the current state of our chakras?” I pointed my thumb toward the hunter. “Do you not see that thing over there wanting to kill us?”
